


The Distribution of Justice

by Ironsides_Dan



Category: Black Sails, Master and Commander - All Media Types, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Age of Sail, Black Sails Inspired, Gen, Nautical, Nautical Stories, Navy, Original work - Freeform, Pirates, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 13:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironsides_Dan/pseuds/Ironsides_Dan
Summary: A historical fiction story about a bizarre event that happened aboard pirate ships in the West Indies. Like most of my work, it is inspired by Black Sails, Pirates of the Caribbean, Patrick O'Brian, and The Pirate History Podcast. It describes what was a common event in Europe at the time: forcing men into Navy service through trickery, deceit, or other dishonest means. Feedback is both appreciated and desperately needed!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Distribution of Justice

The Distribution of Justice

I had been celebrating the birth of my first child when the King’s men had approached us. They inquired as to why we were deep into our cups, and we cheerfully told them the wonderful news, that I had just become a father. They seemed so innocent, so pure of heart, such model soldiers at that time. They bought us a round of drinks and toasted to my newborn baby girl...but after we had drained our glasses, we noticed something extra at the bottom of our glasses: a coin.

“Well gents, it seems you have accepted the King’s silver. You are officially in the Royal Navy now lads.” the tallest man snickered.

His long red coat, his black, tree-cornered hat, adorned with gold trim and some kind of insignia, it was burned into my mind. I flew into a rage. How could he do this!? As I lunged for his throat, everything went black. 

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of seagulls and the crashing of waves. I panicked and went up many stairs in order to confirm my suspicion. I was at sea, against my will, destined to never see my baby girl again. Before I could scream, a whistle sounded and many men, some of whom I recognized from the tavern, all lined up. The tall man with the three-cornered hat came out from a door on the aft of the vessel. He explained our situation:

“Greetings to you lot. Greetings to you beggars, vagrants, drunkards, and general scum. Your poor life choices and humble birth has afforded you very little in this life. Here, however, you have a chance to gain glory and honor by serving in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. If you work hard, and obey me…” he gestured to a few well-dressed men behind him, “...and my officers, you just may become something more than the filth of England. Disobey, and we shall break you the way superior beings have broken the filth for millennia: with lash, pain, torment, and discipline. If this doesn’t suit you, there is always a second option. Does anybody _ not _ want to serve in His Majesty’s Navy? If that is your decision step forward.”

One man did. One man took a step forward. We did not recognize him, but he was dressed in rags and smelt of cheap ale.

“I-I-I-I would like to take the second option, s-s-s-ir” he choked out.

The tall man smiled, then snapped his fingers. Two of the well-dressed men, the ship’s officers as I understood them to be, grabbed the poor man and threw him overboard. The tall man said nothing, and kept us standing there until we could hear his screams of protest no more. Then he smiled.

“That, lads, is the second option. If you choose to stay, know this: you will be bound to every plank on this vessel until you are dead or not needed anymore. Is that clear?” We all replied “Aye-aye!”. The tall man flashed us another sinister grin. “My name is Captain Walter Davies, welcome aboard the HMS _ Hound _, sailors.” He turned and left for the same door he had entered through, and the Officers began to bark orders. That had been my introduction to the sailor’s life.

The days turned into weeks, the crossing was filled with hardship and pain. Our destination was Port Royal, but we hadn’t been told what awaited us there. Captain Davies wanted to make it there in four weeks, but we all knew that was impossible. Not only were we fighting the winds, but the tyrant Captain had skimmed on our provisions. While he ate salted pork and drank brandy, we were fed hardtack, a strange, thick oatmeal, and given watered down rum to drink. We toiled for hours, trying to make his deadline, but our inexperience betrayed us. There wasn’t enough hardened sailors to properly instruct us of our tasks, and the result was far from what the Captain had expected. One man fell from the mainmast due to an improperly tied knot, and another had his legs smashed by an improperly stowed cannon, which had come loose and rolled into him. Both men were tossed overboard with such contempt it was insulting. The man with the smashed legs screamed for what seemed like hours while our vessel left him behind. While we grew weak with hunger, the Captain and his men started to gain more flesh on their frames. By week seven we hardly had the strength to rise from our hammocks. The surgeon informed the Captain that we needed more to eat in order to keep the ship sailing. He relented after hours of arguing. It was the seventh week when we spotted what would be our salvation.

A sail was spotted to our east. She was flying colors Captain Davies did not recognize. It was a white banner with a blue “X” stretched out to the four corners of the flag. He had us beat to quarters, in landsman terms that means we made the ship ready to fight. Despite our weariness we readied the cannon and waited. The HMS _ Hound _ was a 6th rate Frigate, however, she only had 20 cannons to her name, all were 6 pounders. Captain Davies had armed her to deal with smaller vessels, but the ship that chased us appeared to have 24 cannon. We could not make out the poundage, but they were long guns, the same used by navies around the world for their range and penetration. We waited for two days as the mystery ship approached us cautiously.

It was my watch on the third day, and through my spyglass I noticed a man standing at the bow. He was wearing clothing from a culture or part of the world unknown to me. His boots had curled up, slightly pointed toes like those worn by the Ottoman Turks. His pants were not the tight fitting breeches or sailor pants worn by most of the Great Powers’ Mariners, they were loose and had a dyed, linen shirt tucked into them. The belts were of standard European fare, as was his red coat. The most peculiar things, however, were his sash and his hat. The sash was a rich green and patterned. While we had all heard of the beautiful silks that came from the Far East, but this seemed to be even more exotic. His hat was fur, and folded up on each side of his head. The only two adornments was a brass ship in the center of the front fold, and a feather tucked behind the same fold, sticking straight up. Before I could get a look at his face, a single cannon fired from the bow of the vessel, and their flag began to be brought down. I called for Captain Davies, and he wrenched the spyglass from my hands. The flag was changed, and raised again. The new flag was black, with a heart pierced by a cutlass, and an hourglass placed below that ghastly symbol. Drops of red blood from the heart were shown leaking onto the hourglass. Captain Davies swore, and before he could bark orders, the man on the enemy vessel shouted through a speaking horn. His accent was foreign to us, but we all heard him: 

“Strike your colors Englishman! You have no chance, we are well armed and well provisioned! Surrender and no harm will come to you and your men! Should you choose to fight, you will be shown no quarter!”

Before Captain Davies could respond, one of the men had already begun lowering our flag. Davies drew a pistol and shot him before he completed his task. It was as if a floodgate had been released, and before the man hit the ground, my fellow sailors had drawn our weapons with intent on taking control of the ship. However, the enemy vessel was already upon us. As the men from the other vessel threw over grapples, we abandoned our arms and fell to our knees. Captain Davies and the Officers were shouting as we were boarded by scraggly, unkempt barbarians from all corners of the world. Davies drew another pistol and fired at the man I had seen on the bow, but his pistol misfired and exploded in his outstretched hand. The strange man drew his own blade and walked up to Davies, grinning smugly. Davies attempted to draw his sword, but was stopped by the sound of pistols being readied to fire. The Officers and Davies dropped to their knees, and we expected to meet our end…

What followed was most unusual. We expected to be killed outright by these foreign corsairs, but they merely bound our hands and legs and took many of us away for questioning. I watched many men be dragged away, whimpering and pleading for their lives. When they were brought out, their bonds had been cut and they were sent to the quarterdeck. I was trying to understand the corsairs’ intentions when I was seized and brought before the man I had seen on the bow. The man had taken up residence in Davies’ cabin. He sat on a chair while smoking a pipe, his feet lazily placed on the fine table, and his arms were stowed behind him. He introduced himself as Captain Rusakov, and questioned me about our voyage. I explained to him how most of us were not seamen, that we were actually landsmen pressed involuntarily into service. I told him of the night in the tavern, of the hardship and cruelty suffered beneath Captain Davies. He listened intently, only pausing to relight his pipe and drink from a flask produced from a coat pocket. After I had shared my tale, he stood up and one of the corsairs offered him a knife. I closed my eyes, fearing I had offended him in some way, but felt the bonds containing my hands and feet loosen as the knife cut through them. He stood me up and smiled, before leading me out of the cabin. I was placed with the other sailors and Captain Rusakov signaled his men. They began to cut my fellow crew members free and bring them to the quarterdeck. It was only then we noticed Captain Davies and his Officers were all tied to the Mainmast. Two corsairs brought over a large barrel and Captain Rusakov climbed on top of it while clearing his throat. Then, he started to speak:

“English sailors! I have questioned many of you, and received the same story! While you were drinking at a tavern, out in a fishing boat, or celebrating your child’s birth…” he glanced at me as he spoke before turning to the rest of my fellow crew members, “...the Captain and his men stole you away from your homes and forced you into servitude! Then, while you scrounge for food like beasts, he eats like a king! The blatant tossing of injured and dead men overseas like spoiled cargo is the most heinous of crimes ever committed at sea! We all hail from a far off land, a crew of many religions, races, and talents! We sail as free men, and would like to offer that same opportunity to you lot!”.

There was a cheer from the men, but before it got out of hand, he raised his arms as a signal to quiet down.

“However, we need to address the offenses done unto you by the tyrant captain! Before we decide how to handle the transfer of goods and men from this vessel, we must distribute justice unto the captain and his officers! The officers shall face the punishment of humiliation, and the captain shall receive our most painful lesson…” as he said this, Rusakov showed us a sinister sneer before hopping off the barrel and whistling to his men.

The Officers were stripped nude of all but their socks and hats, then tied up as pigs. While this happened, the former Captain was relieved of his clothes save for his shirt and breeches. His feet and wrists were tied to separate ropes, and he was propped up on his knees before Captain Rusakov. He removed the pipe from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke into Davies’ face. I was scarcely close enough to hear what Rusakov said to our former Captain:

“Normally, we’d take your cargo and leave. We’d petition your crew to join us and leave you be. However, you treated your men like slaves on a plantation, like disposable beasts of burden, like the serfs of my homeland bound to the land they are forced to work. This crime cannot go unpunished. The Captain’s role is to guide his men to glory and riches, not beat them into submission.” 

He inhaled and blew another cloud of smoke into Davies’ face. Davies coughed and started sputtering as he started to weep. Before fear overtook him, Davies spoke in what sounded more like a condemned man than a ship’s captain:

“Please sir, let me go and I swear to Christ Almighty I’ll be a better Captain! Give me the chance to change my ways! Just please don’t kill me!” He cried as tears rolled down his face.

The foreign Captain laughed as he inhaled and exhaled more smoke. 

“We aren’t going to kill you, man. We are going to make an example of you. One that your underlings and superiors will never forget.” He produced a black hood from his belt and draped it over Davies’ face before clapping his hands twice.

At the second clap, a group of corsairs pulled on the ropes and Davies was dragged to the starboard side of the HMS _ Hound _ . He was suspended by his feet, with his head pointing to the water. I had never seen this kind of punishment before, and ignorantly thought they were going to drown him. I looked at some of the more experienced men, and saw their faces go pale. There were no cheers, and all was silent. Captain Rusakov raised his right hand and snapped his fingers, and the rope holding Davies above the water was let go, plunging Davies into the sea. As the splash of the former captain hit the water, another group of corsairs began to pull on the rope that I assumed was tied to Davies’ hands. They pulled in short, quick tugs. I failed to comprehend what was happening, and then I heard it. The sound of something...no...Davies’ body...scraping against the bottom of the HMS _ Hound _! I will admit here that my nerve was lost, and I had to vomit overboard at this sudden realization. Just as I finished emptying my stomach, I saw Davies’ body come from the water, where it was unceremoniously lowered onto the deck. His clothes were torn, and his arms, legs, stomach, and back were bleeding from many cuts. He lay there motionless for a few moments, before two more corsairs tossed saltwater on him. Davis screamed and wretched as the pain overtook him. He neck snapped back and his body writhed in agony. After Davies slowly fell silent, Rusakov turned to us, and spoke softly.

“Has justice been dispensed? Are you lot satisfied with this?”

There was silence. No man said a word. Rusakov raised his right hand again and snapped, and, once again, Davies was pulled up and over the water. We could all hear his screams. The shrieks intensified when Rusakov clapped his hands again. Davies’ protests were silenced by the water and they dragged him under the ship again. Once again, we all heard that terrible sound. He was brought up again and dropped on the opposite side. Davies was motionless, taking short, ragged breaths. Rusakov walked over and tore the hood off, revealing the horribly damaged face. An eye had been scraped off, part of his cheek was torn free, and we could see his teeth through the sickening wound. Again, Rusakov asked us:

“Has justice been dispensed?”

I stepped forward, walking towards the crumpled man. Two corsairs moved to stop me, but Rusakov waved them away. I looked at Davies, and with all the rage I could muster, drew back my fist and drove it into his wounded cheek. He grunted and breathed in more ragged gasps, and I was satisfied when a few teeth fell from the wound. I nodded and walked back with my men. Captain Rusakov smiled and whistled again, signaling his men to bring Davies below decks.

The surgeon tended to his wounds as best he could, dressing his cuts with bandages and using salves to ease his pain. Davies and his officers were then placed in a small, single-masted launch with some provisions, a compass, and a map to Port Royal. In an ironic twist, it was only three days away from our current position. We stripped the HMS _ Hound _ of all her goods, then set her aflame before sailing away with Captain Rusakov. As we watched her burn, we all felt relieved. 

We made port in Nassau, where I was able to barter for transport to England, and eventually made it home. After reuniting with my beloved wife and daughter, I caught wind of some news. The local taverns had just heard a story of a scarred up captain arriving in Port Royal with his officers, all were nude except for their socks and hats, and the captain was so disfigured that many of the barmaids fainted upon seeing him. He carried a note in his sock that had details of the crimes committed at sea. The last they heard he was dishonorably discharged from the Royal Navy, and the Officers were to spend the rest of their careers in the bilges. The Distribution of Justice had served its purpose, and taught me a lesson I’ll never forget: The Captain’s duty is to guide his men to glory and riches, not beat them into submission. 


End file.
